All the lights had gone out near the tunnel entry after the mountain doors had collided. It was cold. The moonlight allowed Ariel, Russell and Sheridon, to collect firewood, keeping everyone warm until they found another vehicle to drive back to Mallyview. Treen had walked away from the fire. She stood near the tree line and stared up at the moon. If she didn’t get back to Mallyview and stop Lance, he’d take the Merafuel formula from Garrison Blue’s home and she didn’t want think about what he’d do then.
“Jazz, you all right?” he said, hand on her shoulder.
“Yes, Ariel. Guess I don’t have to tell you what I’m thinking about.”
“Cars are scattered everywhere and Russell and Sheridon are checkin’ for keys. If they don’t find any I’ll start hiking back to the Humvee.”
“Lance will be gone by then. We have to find a way to catch him — ”
Treen and Ariel had heard crackling twigs and turned around. The silhouettes of Russell and Sheridon moved closer and they pushed something up the slight incline.
“We found a motorcycle,” said Sheridon, panting over to them. “It ain’t gonna hold everybody, but I figured if we don’t find a decent car, one of us could ride it back to the Humvee.”
“Good idea,” said Ariel reaching for the helmet in Russell’s hands. When he had it, Treen took it from him and put it on.
“Oh man,” said Russell, turning away.
“Naw, homegirl, you ain’t goin’ after Lance by yourself.”
“Do you even know how to ride that thing?” asked Russell.
Treen tightened the chinstrap, sat on the dirt bike, then lifted Sheridon’s palms off of the handlebars.
Adjusting her fingers around the grips, she studied the bike carefully.
“Yamaha YZ426F. 426cc, liquid-cooled, 4-stroke with Titanium valves — probably a 2001 or 2002 model,” she said. Mouths wide open, the men stared at each other.
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” said Russell. We couldn’t get it started.”
“You’ve flooded the engine. With a four stroke, you can’t get excited and start kicking away. She demonstrated: “Find neutral, engage the hotstart and decompessor, kick it a couple times, then release — ”
Veroom-veroom-veroom!
“Tell my parent’s I love them,” she shouted, “And keep searching for a car. If you find one, meet me at Garrison Blue’s residence. If not, I’ll be back for you!”
“Yeah, but pick us up in a car,” said Sheridon handing her his gloves, “We saw how you left that helicopter!”
“Jazz, be careful!”
“Fry him!” said Russell.
Treen patted the flare gun, tucked in the holster on her hip, then sped down the moonlit trail.
Since she’d been traveling with no headlight, Treen was fortunate to drive onto Blue Neptune’s freshly paved road, which winded downhill and led right out of the Grevelton Hills. Later, with the cold air numbing her face, the Yamaha buzzed through Grevelton City towards the highway to Mallyview.
The big digital sign outside Mallyview National Bank, displayed a temperature below 40 and a time above midnight. Treen was only minutes from Garrison Blue’s neighborhood and prayed that Lance’s car would still be there.
When she arrived at Garrison Blue’s enormous property, Treen shut off the engine and coasted to a halt in front of a 10-foot wrought iron gate, which stood opened. She hung the helmet on the handlebars, removed Sheridon’s oversized gloves, then slinked between the gates.
Just as Mrs. Blue had mentioned, several structures were situated across the clean-cut property. Treen continued to jog down the cobblestone driveway for over three minutes and the four-columned, brick mansion was still two hundred yards away. She ran faster.
Now, she could see a spectacular marble fountain, flowing at the center of the roundabout driveway. It probably cost more than a house on St. Barron Road. The water sprinkled down on the wide rear end of a black Porsche 911 — a car that belonged to Lance Ruof.
Treen reached the fountain then glanced up at the illuminated Knight sitting atop his horse and extending his sword. She dipped her hand in the cool water then splashed her face. She then took the flare gun from its holster, checked inside the Porsche, then and crept towards the front door of the mansion. The columns towered in front of several arched windows and the roof seemed to reach the stars.
Lance must’ve forgotten to take Garrison Blue’s house keys after he’d killed him because the front door had been ripped from its hinges. Treen crept inside, all the way to the large foyer.
Bits of dried mud curved across the white marbled floor and led into then living room. The sprinkled dirt probably fell from Lances shoes when he stormed through the house. Treen passed a giant chandelier hanging above a snake-like staircase then studied the statues, paintings, and nineteenth century furniture until she saw the fireplace, standing half open like a door.
Treen approached the fireplace then paused to stare at the family photos atop the ledge. Suddenly, the fireplace door opened all the way out. Treen fled behind a bookshelf, as Lance Ruof crawled out laughing, briefcase in hand.
“I’ve got it!” Merafuel is all mine!” he shouted.
“Hello Lance,” said Treen, stepping out into the open with the flare gun aimed at his head.
“Little Einstein! What brings you to this materialistic mansion?”
“Finally we agree on something. Now give me the formula.”
“I need it!”
“Why? You’ve destroyed the other droids.”
“They had too many faults! I’m going to start all over just like professor Mera did when things didn’t pan out. This time, Tsara and I will design and build them ourselves — without flaws!”
“I’m sorry Lance. Tsara won’t be helping you with anything.
She’s been shut down.”
“You destroyed her!”
“No, it wasn’t me but she’s gone just the same.”
“I will build her again myself!”
“You’re not leaving here with that formula.”
“Fire that flare at me and we both perish.”
“If you force me to, then that’s how it’s going to be.”
“Out to save the world, are you?”
“No. Just Mallyview and Grevelton. That’s all I have energy for at the moment.”
“Suppose I give you the formula. What do you suggest I do then?”
“If you programmed the other droids to shut down, I’m sure you can do the same for yourself.”
“No chance,” he said, moving towards her.
Backing away, Treen had been paying too much attention to Lance and too little attention to the area behind her. She stumbled over a table, dropped the flare gun, then watched it slide across the floor.
“It is a complete joy to see you finally mess up,” he said.”
Treen looked up in time to see the bottom of Lance’s shoe barreling down on her. She rolled clear and crawled after the flare gun, but he grabbed her ankles and yanked her towards him. After a short struggle, he pulled her up by her jacket.
“Having fun?” he asked, before hurling her several feet, where she bounced off a couch and fell next to a glass-top coffee table.
Lance marched towards her. She slid herself under the table and lay shielded by the loveseat. She peered through the glass to see which side he’d come from but it was difficult because the tabletop was littered with items, like a bust of Socrates and an open book that lay face down. Treen leaned closer for a glimpse of the chapter: Asimov’s Laws of Robotics.
Lance walked up to the couch. Treen slid out from the other side of the table, sprang up, then sprinted to grab the discarded briefcase.
“Give me that formula!” Lance shouted, giving chase.
Treen saw the dark silhouette of the flare gun beneath the French doors and dropped the briefcase. She didn’t need the Merafuel formula, and she definitely didn’t need Lance Ruof chasing her any longer.
The moment that Lance stopped to reach down for the briefcase, Treen began her slide across the floor. She reached the flare gun, grabbed it while still sliding, then turned over on her stomach. Now facing the Ecnal leader, she stopped her momentum and aimed as he charged toward her.
Treen fired. Like a miniature missile, the flare soared out. In a split second, it struck Lance directly in the chest, knocking him backwards and onto the floor, where he shook violently. Treen froze, staring at the sparks that shot from his burning frame.
Surprisingly, Lance staggered to his feet. Still holding the briefcase, the disoriented droid’s entire shell caught fire and began slamming into the walls. Treen smashed through the French doors, realizing that the droid was about to blow.
After she’d hobbled up from the glass, Treen hurried away from the house and jogged past the fountain. She struggled another twenty yards before she began to stagger; exhausted, she fell face down in the grass.
Moments later, a deafening explosion tore through the house. The ground shook. The mansion burned. However, Treen didn’t